


The Caged Sparrow

by wanderingwanderlustwriter



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Lyrium Addiction, Romance, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-12 07:06:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5657200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingwanderlustwriter/pseuds/wanderingwanderlustwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her name is Aveline. Her parents named her after the first woman to be named a chevalier, and the dreams they had for her reached the clouds. A strong warrior, a tenacious protector, everything that the Trevelyan house needed to launch them into fame. But they learned that the Maker is cruel, dreams aren't set in stone, and sometimes fate exists simply to laugh at you.</p><p>
  <i>Mage Trevelyan Inquisitor through the game, won't go into established game content unless entirely necessary for romance or plot.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

Once there lived a boy in a small cottage with his mother and father.  
He was a sickly lad, and couldn't go outside and play.  
But everyday he listened to the birds singing at his window, and wished for one to call a friend.  
So his father brought him home a present one day, a little sparrow in a little cage.  
This little bird lived with the little boy for many years, and he enjoyed the songs it sang.  
For years the bird and the boy lived together in harmony.  
Yet, for a long time, the boy felt sad for the bird, being caged all it's life.  
So, one day, when he was sure that it was right, he opened the cage and let the bird free.  
The bird flew around the room, singing a song so beautiful that the boy couldn't help but weep.  
Then, as the bird finished it's song, it flew back in it's cage,  
For the bird was content to sing in it's cage, for it made the boy happy.

 _\- Excerpt from_ Tales Across Thedas _, found tucked away in the Circle of Ostwick_

* * *

A young maiden walks through a courtyard, all around her are cobblestone walls she's lived behind for most of her life. With trellis's strewn high with roses and tall marble statues that greet her as she passes, she loves it here. She always has. Drawn to the flowers that surround her she reaches out to them, smiling faintly at the soft, silky, touch of their petals. A feeling that has always comforted her, made her feel at peace. The sound of metal moving catches her attention briefly. She looks up at the guards watching her, never changing, never shifting. Gently, she waves at them. Some nod back at her in greeting, others remain almost as still as the statues in the garden.

For years, she's walked this same path. Each step she takes, watched with the utmost scrutiny. She rises in the morning at the break of dawn, comes down the corridor, retrieves breakfast from one of the servants, steps out into the courtyard, greets the guards, and heads out into the gardens for her studies. Her days never changing, sedimentary, always controlled and monitored to a point where even taking a step off the beaten path would cause the others around her to worry. For fear to arise. Which is why she's never strayed. Never stepped from the path she's meant to walk. Perhaps others would deem the constraints of her life to be too harsh, but not she.

She happily lives the life she's been given. Not everyone has had the same blessings as she. Being born into a noble family granted her certain niceties and commodities that plenty would kill to have within their grasp. Never mind that she never leaves except to accompany her parents to parties they often attend across the Free Marches. They have to keep up appearances, they've always told themselves. If they were to hide their daughter away completely, it would just make the other nobles suspicious. Make them question the lie. And that would possibly be worse than the truth.

Still, smiling to herself, she comes to the gardens. Her absolute favourite place in all the city-states of the Free Marches. She used to live outside of the manor, in Ostwick, with her parents and her siblings. They decided that it was best for her to learn in Kirkwall, where the guards are better trained to handle any mishaps. The guards she'd grown up with insisted she was more than capable to remain under their care, that was the first lie she caught her parents in. The nobles of the Trevelyan house weren't so much concerned with her safety as they were with appearances. Her "talents" could not be known to the other noble families. They would never allow that under pain of death.

Nevertheless, she's glad for it. Sitting down at the edge of one of the many fountains, she inhales the innocent scent that morning brings and relaxes for a brief moment. She spent much of her childhood playing with the dogs by the fountains and the roses such as those around her. No matter what was going on in her life, the gardens always made her feel as if none of it mattered, none of her hardships could worry her. It made continuing on much less difficult. Made her feel more at home than anything else.

"I have to ask, do you ever arrive to your lessons on time?" Someone asks suddenly from behind her.

Turning, the young maiden smiles brightly. It's one of her servants, her closest friend. Someone who's been with her since she was very small. Since Ostwick, before it all changed. A young Dalish elf by the name of Vera.

"I try," she starts, standing up and smoothing out her gown, "but how do they expect me to get any work done surrounded by such beauty?"

"From what I remember, you're the one who asked to have the lessons out in the gardens." Vera counters, giving the maiden a knowing look with a hand on her hip.

Quietly, she chuckles. "Fair enough. Though you can't blame me for wanting to linger."

"True, I cannot." The servant laments, shaking her head and gesturing down the path. "Come, the First Enchantress does _not_ like to be kept waiting, da'len. And she's waited long enough."

Nodding, the young maiden smooth's out her dress one last time and leads the way as she ventures further into the gardens, allowing herself a moment's breath before her day truly begins. Hours of practice, hours of scrutiny, hours of fear, hours of whispers behind her, hours in a cage she'll never be allowed to escape. Seeing the First Enchantress sitting calmly on a stone bench with a book in her lap, she smiles; accepting that her life as a prisoner will be all she'll ever know.


	2. Chapter 2

_Searing white hot pain. Erupting from a single point and creeping through her entire being. Pure unadulterated agony. Branching out and pulsing stronger with each beat of her heart. Crippling fear. Racking her with every breath. Dread. Consuming her body and soul. Hopelessness. The last thing she feels._

* * *

No one knew what happened, no one thought it was possible. It was a chance for peace. A chance for the rebellion to end and for countless lives to be saved. A chance for hope to be restored across all of Thedas. Instead, it only ended in more death and chaos. Ripping open the Veil and causing demons to spill out from the Fade. Causing an explosion that obliterated the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Many have to wonder; _If only I'd been there, could I have stopped it?_ _Could I have prevented this? Would most Holy still be alive?_

Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast thought this more than most. She was the Right Hand of the Divine. Her death shook her more than she cared to admit. Desperately she wanted to know what happened, she would do _anything_ to know, but she knew that if she acted in her current state of mind, things could end up worse than they already were.

She was pacing in front of a cell in that moment, wondering what course of action she should take. From time to time, she peered into the iron cage, regarding the elven apostate crouched over the prisoner, gently moving a hand over her face, her chest, her hand. She couldn't help but snarl. Cassandra didn't want to _coddle_ the thing. She wanted to learn what happened, and she would do anything to extract the information from the mage. Anything.

"Please, Seeker, your aura is only making her worse." The apostate pled, peering over his shoulder slightly before returning to his charge who'd started to squirm uncomfortably.

"I do not _care_ if my presence makes her worse, Solas." Cassandra sneered vehemently. "She's the only one to survive the Conclave. For all we know, she is the one responsible for this! She must be interrogated, brought to justice! Not nursed back to health!"

Solas stood slowly and sighed. "You truly hold mages in high regard, if you believe us powerful enough to rip open the Veil."

"I recognise their power." She continued in distaste. "And I know that only magic could cause such chaos. You can understand my hesitation."

The apostate wasn't pleased with the Seeker's course of action, but he bowed his head to her in a slight defeat. "Let her rest." He insisted. "She will wake, and when that happens you can question her to the fullest extent of your ability."

"If we wake her now then I can do just that but much quicker." Cassandra growled slightly.

"I promise you, Cassandra, she will not wake just because you or I wish it." He persisted, motioning towards the stairs. "Now, I will continue to watch over her. I will make sure the mark does no harm to us."

The Seeker did not appreciate being dismissed. Still, she allowed it. "Fine. If I return and she hasn't awaken or you haven't made any progress in deciphering that mark, I can assure you a headman's block will be in your future."

She then left the cells in a huff, somewhat regretting the threats she'd spat at the apostate helping her. But remaining near the prisoner was clouding her mind. She saw nothing but Divine Justinia's murderer, a mage who'd managed to rip open the Fade, someone who could've possibly brought doom upon all of Thedas. If she stayed a moment longer, she couldn't promise that she wouldn't do something regrettable.

And yet, the prisoner was none of the things the Seeker thought her to be. She was a simple girl from simple Ostwick, attending the Conclave after her own Circle shattered in the hopes to prevent the rest of her friends from being cut down by templar's. They did not choose to become apostates, it was forced upon them and she wanted the Order to see that. And instead, she was convulsing on a blanket in a cold cell, completely unaware of what was happening around her, of what _had_ happened just hours prior.

_"Bring forth the sacrifice."_

Her face tensed up from the brief images flashing across her eyelids. Another wave of pain shot through her, causing her to call out in her sleep. Solas quickly returned his attention to her, wetting a cloth and carrying it to her side. Gently he wiped off the sweat accumulating on her brow, wondering how else he could help her. Her mark wasn't responding to his magic, perhaps her own was protecting her from him, he couldn't ease her pain. He could only help to prevent the mark from spreading, from creeping up her arm until its power strangled her and left her for dead.

_"Someone, help me!"_

More fragments, more segments of memory that never really took root in the prisoner's mind. They tormented her as she slept, preventing her from finding even the briefest moment of peace. Between the nightmares of being swarmed by spiders and the pulsing pain of the mark, she'd never known such fear, not since her Harrowing.

_She's in Kirkwall when it happens. The deciding moment for her as an Apprentice. Her Harrowing. A ritual in which she'll either prevail, and rise to the rank of Mage, or fail, and she did not wish to think of what would become of her if she did not succeed. Every guard is present, every precaution taken. Everything has been prepared. She sits still in front of a mirror, wishing Vera could be there with her. Though knowing it's impossible to wish for such things. She knows that in the Tower, in the Fade, she will be alone._

_"Come, my child. It is time."_

_It takes her a moment, but eventually she stands albeit quite hesitantly. Her hands are shaking beyond belief as she brings them to her breast. Beneath her skin she can feel the beat of her heart, it racks her with every pulse. Almost breaking her resolve as she looks up in the mirror, blue eyes practically crying out in fear. Begging her to run, to flee. Apprentices are never told what happens during the Harrowing. But she can recall several times her friends have gone up to the tower and were never to be seen again. The fear she feels is not unwarranted._

_Clenching her fists, she's decided that her mentor is right; it's time. That she cannot dwell on the past, or on her future, how short it may be. With as much strength as she can muster, she turns towards her teacher, First Enchantress Rosalie. Someone who's been with her since she was just a small girl, no older than nine years. Someone she can trust beyond all doubt. The enchantress reaches a hand towards her, willing to lead yet another of her disciples into the fire. Not that either of them have much of a choice. They gently lace fingers and leave the young maiden's quarters behind._

_They walk quietly, not able to speak to one another. The maiden, she isn't the strongest of the Apprentices waiting for their own Harrowing, there is not contest. She doesn't like violence, never has. Her talents lie in healing magic, in protecting others. No matter how long she trained for this moment, she'll never be ready. Whatever will happen to her in the Fade, she is sure that she will fail. For she is a Dreamer, and they are the weakest of all when it comes to possession. When the First Enchantress announced her name earlier that month, she knew that she wouldn't be able to see her parents again. Never again will she gaze upon Ostwick and recall more childish things, be twirled around a dance floor by young Dukes vying for her attention. She smiles weakly. Reluctant as she seems, she's come to terms with it. Her life ends today and there isn't anything she can do to change that._

_Approaching the Tower, she wonders where the time's gone. She finds herself unable to breath for a moment, unable to look back at the world she's leaving behind. Sensing her worry, her distress, Rosalie holds her face in her hands, gently stroking her cheeks as tears begin pooling from the maiden's eyes._

_"I promise you, you_ are _ready for this." The enchantress encourages her student, reaching a hand to stroke her hair and soother her as best she can._

_The maiden chokes out a sob, unable to contain it any longer. "I'm not a fighter. You know this, they know this. I've failed every sort of offensive magic there is! What hope do I possibly have?"_

_Rosalie gently pulls her student towards her, planting a small kiss to her hairline and lingering a moment. "My child, not all strength is measured the same way. Of course your peers can cast fire and ice from their fingertips with ease, but you do not need to think yourself lesser because you cannot. You must only remember to steel your heart, remain firm, do not let anything you see -"_

_"That is enough." Someone chastises from behind the two women. It is the Knight-Captain, a stern young man that would gladly cut down any mage that so much as gave him an off look. "You've told her more than she needs to know. I will escort her from here."_

_The enchantress gives her student's hand a firm squeeze. "I will see you when this is over."_

_She wishes to respond, but the Knight-Captain is already ushering her inside. Struggling slightly, she peers back over her shoulder, desperate to get one final look at the last friendly face she'll see, but the door closes behind them almost immediately. She's truly alone. Even with a hand on her back, she knows she's alone. Though she knows that there is one more thing she can do, she can continue to listen to her teacher. With determination, she faces back around and steels herself for what is to come. If she is to die, she decides she will do so with honor. With every ounce of fight she can give._

_Too soon they come to the top of the stairs. Too soon she's surrounded by templars. Too soon she's brought to her grave. In front of her is a bowl fixed on a pedestal, its contents glowing with an odd chilling aura. She finds herself drawn to it, though she refuses to move from her spot until ordered to. Everyone around her is stiff, still, ready to strike, as they always are. It does nothing to ease her, but she doesn't let that break her. She is a Trevelyan. If all else fails, she will not waver._

_Again she feels pressure on her back so she steps forward towards the pedestal. The Knight-Captain leaves her to complete the circle of Templars around her. All poised to strike her down. She inhales deeply, feeling a wetness accumulating at the corners of her eyes, a lump forming in her throat. Desperately, she swallows. Looking up to the ceiling and hoping that it will be quick._

_"This is lyrium." A templar explains, motioning to the liquid in front of her. "You will enter the Fade, encounter a demon, fail to overcome it or if you linger for too long, we will kill you where you stand. Is that understood?"_

_She nods slowly, feeling more wetness streaking her face. "Yes."_

_"Good." He agrees, turning away from her and rejoining the circle._

_"Please do not let Rosalie see me after this is all over." She adds solemnly, staring at the pool in front of her. "She had so many hopes for me, I'd hate to disappoint her."_

_Without waiting for a response, she takes one last breath, reaching for the lyrium, it coats her hand and she feels everything changing. She feels as if she's being drained dry, being forced apart, although compressing at the same time. Entering the Fade has proved to be like nothing she's ever experienced before. She squeezes her eyes tight, ignoring everything else around her, praying that Vera won't miss her too much, and plunging in._

Andraste guide me.


	3. Chapter 3

_A lump in her throat. Dry, crackling, pain. She struggles to breath. Gasping, choking, strangling, it hurts. She can't open her eyes, she can't decipher her thoughts; nothing makes sense. Her chest feels as if it's being constricted, like every breath is being forced out of her as soon as she catches hold of it. Her skin feels tight against her bones, she tries to reach her throat, to claw away the pain, but she can't move. She can't do anything._

* * *

She opened her eyes suddenly, sitting up and gasping for breath. Ripped from a nightmare she couldn't quite recall. With a hand clutched to her chest, sweat pouring from her brow, she barely registered the figure advancing towards her with water. Her mind was too much in a fog, she was too unhinged. And rightfully so. Once her caretaker was within reach, he tried to speak calmly to her.

"Be still, you are safe." He tried to placate her, holding out the glass.

Looking up, startled, he could tell she was beyond terrified. Not that he felt he could blame her. Apart from the mark on her hand threatening to overtake her, and waking up in a cell she had no memory of entering, she had her hands bound in her lap, and there was a man whom she didn't know hovering over her. Anyone with enough sense about them could sense the dangers.

"Wh-where am I?" She stammered slightly, shaking and staring down at her restraints, clenching her fists and relaxing them once more.

Gently and slowly, he sat down beside her. "You are at the Chantry in Haven, my name is Solas."

"Aveline." She offered, processing the information for a moment, she nodded, and muttered almost incoherently, panicked, "The Temple of Sacred Ashes… the Conclave…"

"Yes, you were there." He continued, further informing her with a calming tone.

Surprisingly, she chuckled slightly. "I take it that negotiations didn't go as planned."

_She truly doesn't remember_. The apostate thought, forcing his composure and handing her the glass of water once more. "That is putting it mildly, but you're bound to learn the truth -"

Suddenly, she cried out in pain, bending over and clutching her left hand. The mark was growing, Solas knew that much, quickly he set down the glass and reached for her. He rolled up her sleeve to see that it was slowly crawling up her arm, pulsing, glowing green and causing her immense pain. That only meant that more rifts were appearing in the world. Gently he raised his hand over the mark, trying to stop it from growing any further. Soon, though, he felt that he could no longer help. That the mark would grow faster than he could stop it.

"What -" She gasped, breathless, pain evident in her voice. "What _is_ this?"

Carefully, he sighed, never ceasing the spell. "That was something we hoped you could tell us."

"Yes, it is."

Solas and Aveline looked up to see who was addressing them. It was a soldier, a former templar. That certainly wouldn't help his charges condition at all. The apostate finished the spell and gave his charge a look she could only decipher as one of caution as he stood, approaching the cell door.

"You're to go out into the Valley and aid the others. Seeker Cassandra's orders." She instructed him, her tone harsh and commanding.

"Of course." He agreed wholeheartedly, bowing a bit as she unlocked the door.

Quietly, the apostate left the dungeons, leaving the prisoner alone with someone who would be more than happy to end her life in that moment. She swallowed past a lump in her throat, looking down at the mark on her hand, invisible to the naked eye until it reared its ugly head, before looking back up to the soldier.

"What am I doing here?" She asked as confidently as she could manage.

"Silence." The soldier commanded, nodding to one of her associates to retrieve the prisoner. "You will tell Seeker Cassandra everything you remember about the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and then they will determine what's to happen to you."

As her cell door opened, her breath hitched in her throat. The soldier's armor bore the insignia of the Templar Order. Ever since the rebellion broke out she'd slain a few more of the Order than she would've liked, by no choice of her own. They'd chased her across Ostwick, deep into the Free Marches, before she crossed into Fereldon, intending to seek refuge with Grand Enchanter Fiona at Redcliffe's castle until she heard talks of a Conclave to restore the peace. It was her plan to attend, talk some sense into anyone rational enough to listen.

And because of that decision, this was the fate she was left with. To be slain or to be made Tranquil.

They took her roughly by the arm and pulled her up, almost dragging her out the door before she was able to solidify her footing. Without hesitation she was promptly pushed forward before she was forced to her knees and her rope restraints were replaced with something far more secure. Iron shackles. She looked up at them as if to beg them not to cut her off from the Fade. They weren't like the templars in Kirkwall, surely they'd listen to reason.

Suddenly, the door opened and a Seeker of Truth entered the midst along with another woman bearing the crest of the Chantry. The prisoner could only assume that one of them was Cassandra. And neither of them looked too pleased by her presence.

"What happened at the Conclave." She was asked suddenly by the Seeker.

"I-I swear, I don't remember." Aveline admitted, trying not to notice the swords aimed directly at her.

No, that wasn't possible. She always noticed the swords, the glares, for they were both things she had become quite accustomed to.

_She can't escape the glares, no matter how hard she tries. The young mage, recently overcoming her Harrowing, only did more to stoke the fires of fear and judgment. She's a true threat now. Nevermind that she overcame possession, defeated a demon and came out of the Fade victorious, it doesn't matter to the templar's. It doesn't matter that in all her days in the Kirkwall Circle, she only ever studied herbs and history, she might as well've ran from the circle, becoming an apostate and slaying templar's in her wake and using their deaths to fuel her powers as a blood mage._

_Yet, she still doesn't mind. She sits at a fountain, staring into the waters, watching the small fish swim around, nibbling at the copper coins children had tossed in. A fond smile creases her face as she raises her hand, moving it across the water and forcing it to flow with her movement. Ever since her Harrowing she has much better control over her magic, no longer fretting over the simplest spells._

_"Da'len!" Someone whispers harshly, taking a seat next to her. It's Vera. "You aren't supposed to use magic outside of the Tower unless you're with the First Enchantress!"_

_Looking up, she hadn't even registered that she'd been doing anything of the sort. Performing magic has become so simple for her, as simple as breathing. She never had to worry about accidentally casting a spell before, and it's taking some time for her to get used to the feeling. She looks to the walls, regarding a Templar giving her his utmost attention. An attention that would've probably ended somewhat sour if she hadn't noticed._

_Wistfully, she sighs, leaning on Vera's shoulder and closing her eyes. "Abelas, lethallan. I wasn't really thinking."_

_Despite her previous tone, Vera chuckles quietly. "I've known you long enough to know_ that _much. You never think, da'len."_

_She gives a small snicker, knowing this to be true. "You're too cruel to me."_

_"Only because I care about you, da'len." Vera admits wholeheartedly, kissing the top of her head. "You've always got your mind in the clouds, your heart is too pure! You've yet to really understand that these shems would gladly cut you down if you gave them half a reason to!"_

_She sighs, knowing this to be perfectly true. "I know. That doesn't mean I have to treat them as they do me."_

_Vera shakes her head in disbelief. "You truly are a gem, da'len. As well as a fool."_

_Quietly, she laughs. She prefers to be the fool, to truly believe that everyone has good in them. Has something worth fighting for. Nevermind all of the times she's watched a brother or sister get cut down for even slicing their finger under the justification that they're practicing blood magic. She still doesn't believe that templar's are evil. She understands that they've seen some truly awful things, that some mages have caused them pain. That this is what they're trained for. She cannot resent them for that._


	4. Chapter 4

_Nightmares. Nightmares like she's never experienced before. Fear, pulsing through her like a sickness, plaguing her and stealing her mind. Images are fleeting, she can't grasp onto them. Something's pulling them from her, drawing them out, latching onto them and keeping them for their own selfish greed. Giving it power. Making it stronger. Its voice seems familiar, devious, sinister, coating her in darkness, but soon even that small memory is taken from her._

* * *

_"We must seal it, quickly!"_

She began thrashing once more. Her convulsions from her previous slumber came back in full. Fading in and out of consciousness, Aveline tried to recall the last few moments before she had blacked out. She'd gone into the valley with Cassandra, then they came across a dwarf by the name of Varric, as well as Solas, the elven apostate that had been looking over her while she slept. They'd fought a multitude of demons, saved a patrol on the mountain path. She'd felt much more secure, finally getting a staff within her grasp did much to ease her anxious mind. Solas, he'd grabbed hold of her wrist and pulled it towards the rift, effectively sealing it and preventing demons from passing through. She didn't think it was possible, and yet, she did it.

_"If we don't hurry, the mark will consume her!"_

She couldn't help but shake at the thought, even as unconscious as she was. But after facing the rift at the Breach, after facing a pride demon, the mark no longer bothered her. It no longer pulsed, caused her to cry out in pain. She dared to hope that she was out of the frying pan. She dearly wished that she did what she'd meant to do. That Thedas was safe from the Breach and she could head for Redcliffe, seek refuge, aid the rebel mages as best she could, and perhaps feel safe once more.

"It's been three days, I don't understand why she still sleeps!"

Impatient and frustrated, Seeker Cassandra paced the length of the war room. Ignoring Sister Leliana's looks, Commander Cullen's efforts to stop her movements, Ambassador Montilyet's attempts to calm her, and resisting the urge to march into the mage's quarters and shake her awake. Or at least attempting to, again. She'd gotten a few stern words from Solas the last time she tried it.

"There's still plenty to do, Cassandra." The commander chastised her, dragging his fingers across the map. "We don't need her to be awake at this exact moment."

"She couldn't close the Breach." She decided to remind him, practically snarling. "Solas says that the mark isn't powerful enough, at this point in time. We need to pour enough magic into it and hopefully -"

"And you think that's a good idea?" The commander interrupted, shaking his head in disagreement. "How are we to know if overpowering the mark will do any good? It could simply just make the whole situation worse. It would be best to just let the healers watch over her, as they have been, we'll gather a consensus after she wakes."

Clearly unhappy with his decision, the Seeker stormed off, deciding to get some air before she did something she'd regret. As she often did. Back in the war room, Leliana gave the commander a weary look, sighing and crossing her arms in slight irritation.

"I forgot how easily she gets like this." She said laboriously, dragging at every word. "I'll go see what I can do."

"And I'm going to return to my office." The ambassador interjected, examining her papers and making for the door with her colleague. "Should the prisoner awaken, or should Cassandra calm down, you know where to find me."

The commander bowed a bit as they left, an old habit of his. Sighing a bit himself, he walked around the war table, examining the troops positions, their numbers, and wondering how they were ever going to pull off what the Seeker had told him back in the Free Marches.

_Reviving the Inquisition of old._ He couldn't help but laugh to himself. _It sounded so simple when she came to me in Kirkwall. Perhaps I am more of a fool than I thought._

He didn't regret his decision to join the Seeker, just the events that'd transpired after arriving in Haven. He couldn't've expected it. No one could. They were only to act if the Conclave failed. The Inquisition was supposed to be a last resort. And yet they found it to be the _only_ resort. With a young woman falling out of the Fade, demons spilling out behind her, Maker only knew what was in store for them.

Then, suddenly, the door to the war room opened and Cullen looked up to see if Cassandra or Leliana had returned. But it was neither. It was someone he'd only caught a glimpse of in the valley. Only for a moment. _She was fighting the demons…_ _A soldier, perhaps?_

"Can I help you?" He asked, making his way around the table and putting himself in front of her.

"I was told to speak with Seeker Cassandra, is she here?" She said assuredly, looking around, examining her surroundings.

The commander nodded slowly, his arm resting on the hilt of his sword. "Yes - well, she was. She's just stepped out for a bit. Is there anything I can help you with in the meantime?"

"I'm not sure." She admitted, scratching her chin. "I was told she wanted to see me as soon as I woke."

_As soon as she woke - oh sweet Maker._ "You're the prisoner." He exasperated, putting his forehead into his palm. "I'm sorry I-I didn't recognise you."

Surprisingly, she let out a small chuckle. "Truthfully, I'd hoped to have shed that title."

"My apologies, force of habit." He lamented, bowing slightly. "I'll go and retrieve her."

"No no no." She resisted, waving her hands and trying to stop him. "You're probably busy, I don't want to trouble you."

"It's no bother, I -"

Still, she laughed quietly. "Really, I'm only walking out the way I came. But thank you."

She bowed, bidding the commander farewell as she left the war room as quietly and as suddenly as she arrived. Left alone once more, Cullen found himself staring at the spot where she had stood, not for any reason aside from a slight confusion. He couldn't really grasp how unremarkable she seemed to be. Hearing the stories, how she was guided out of the Fade by Andraste, made him almost believe that she'd have some divine presence. Of course he didn't assumed she would glow and be led around by Andraste herself.

But she was just a regular woman. It seemed impossible, but that's what she was. And as she left the Chantry, no one seemed to know who she was either. The woman they were referring to as the "Herald of Andraste". They were blissfully unaware. She simply checked the tents, to see if Seeker Cassandra was among them. For perhaps the last time in her life she was just – Aveline.

_"Aveline!"_

_The young mage turns around quickly to the call of her name. Vera is motioning for her from around a corner, a devious spark in her eyes. She knows that can only mean trouble, and still she approaches her carefully._

_"Vera, what are you-"_

_She's interrupted as Vera slips a hand over her mouth and pulls her out of view of the guards. Eyeing her friend quizzically, she doesn't resist, instead gazes into her eyes, wondering what to expect._

_Pulling something out of her pocket, Vera smiles. "I got this from the kitchens. They're meant for the Knight-Commander, cream puffs. She loves these things."_

_"Vera!" She laughs yet whispers, pushing the desserts down whilst peering over her shoulder. "You're going to get me in trouble! Again!"_

_"Oh what's life in the Circle if you don't live a little!" Vera winks, bringing the pastry up to the mage's mouth. "C'mon, just try it. I doubt you'll ever taste anything this good from the kitchens without bending the rules a bit."_

_"You say it as though you've already tried them." She chastises slightly as she eyes Vera._

_The elf shrugs playfully, her smirk never wavering. "Once or twice, maybe."_

_"I'm not going to be saving you from the wrath of the templar's this time." She bluffs, a kind smile colouring her face._

_"Like they could catch me." Vera scoffs, practically forcing her to eat the cream puff. "Now eat this before I chuck it at Willis!"_

_Laughing, she accepts the cream puff, placing it in her mouth and brining her hand to her chin, feeling the filling oozing out. Trying to keep the dessert in her mouth, she almost laughs, watching Vera experience the same exact problem and glaring at her all the while._

_"What're you two doing back there?" Someone asks, innocently enough._

_They don't know if it's a templar, a servant, a mage, or what, but the two takeoff running, trying desperately not to choke on their meal or trip over their hems. Every now and then, they turn to each other, cream dabbed on the corner of their mouths, and they can't help but smile._

Aveline smiled blissfully, as she recalled the memory. Running through the halls of the manor, causing mischief or helping Vera run from it, disrupting lessons from time to time with their antics. She'd always miss the Circle if it was just for the sense of nostalgia. It wasn't just imprisonment or servitude. Not always. She was allowed certain freedoms thanks to the word of the First Enchantress.

Lost in her own thoughts, she almost missed Cassandra returning to the Chantry. So she quickly followed, picking up her pace to stop the door before it closed. The Seeker regarded her, almost startled, but eager to get talks underway. So they both ventured back into the war room, and that's when the Inquisition's efforts truly began.


	5. Chapter 5

_Miraculously, disastrously, her life changes forever. The "Herald of Andraste". It's strange. Her mind wanders, she can't fully grasp what they're implying. A young mage, cast from the Fade by the bride of the Maker. She can seal the rifts, they realise, and save Thedas from the tear in the sky. She's not used to the trust, but she likes it. She's not used to the expectations, and she fears it. She swears not to fail. Not a second time. She's failed too many already._

* * *

The Chantry was mostly silent. After the Herald left for the Hinterlands, everyone seemed to calm down. The people of Haven no longer demanded her head. Well, at least they didn't do so out loud. That was all the advisors of the Inquisition could really ask for. They knew perfectly well that the evidence against the young Trevelyan was damning. She could be executed in Val Royeux at the drop of a pin. They were optimistic, not foolish.

For days, people had been flocking to Haven. Ever since the Herald left, her reputation across Ferelden had spread. And, to Ambassador Montilyet's pleasure, the unified message was a positive one. A mage, delivering the message of Andraste, it wouldn't be a welcome notion to most. Especially after the events that transpired at Kirkwall. It was reassuring to hear that the people of Thedas were not as adverse to the idea as one would think. Maker only knew what Orlais made of her. The ambassador would have to be sure to pay attention to the courts. Not that she wasn't already.

"Has Leliana had any word from the Herald?" Commander Cullen asked as they ran into each other that morning.

The ambassador shook her head. "No. Apart from the refugees we're receiving, there's no news of her efforts beyond what they themselves have brought."

"I can't imagine it takes someone this long to venture to the Crossroads with a message." He sighed, scratching the back of his neck and gripping the hilt of his sword. "Perhaps we should've sent some of Leliana's people instead."

Montilyet chuckled delicately into her hand, finding the commander awfully amusing in that moment. "You know as well as I that her spies would not have had the same effect across the Frostbacks as the Herald has. For one, everyone knows who she is. For some, she's a beacon of hope, to others, she's a threatening adversary. She cannot be ignored, whatever the case."

The commander let out a reluctant laugh, knowing what she said to be perfectly true. "Point taken. It's just – it's making me nervous. The templar and mage fighting has ripped Ferelden apart just as the Blight did. Who's to say she isn't caught in the middle?"

"She most surely is." The ambassador concurred, scribbling something down absentmindedly. "You've heard what the refugees have been gossiping about."

It was true. The news of the Herald was that of a compassionate mage, roaming the countryside and righting the wrongs her brothers and sisters had wrought onto the already troubled land. Promises of warm blankets, food, healers, Cullen had mostly written it off as pure speculation. The over exaggerations of storytellers, a foolish thing to believe.

And yet, he did.

"There's word from the Herald." A scout told the two advisors, approaching them swiftly. "Sister Leliana wishes to meet with you in the war room."

"Oh thank the Maker." The commander sighed as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

They ventured into the Chantry, heading straight for the war room, both eager to receive the news. Pushing open the door, they regarded Leliana who was smiling down at a report in her hand.

"Good news, I take it?" Cullen asked, making for the spymaster and peering over her shoulder.

Leliana chuckled quietly. "The Herald sure does have an odd way of writing a report."

The commander quirked a brow at his associate, not quite understanding what she meant. She handed the slip of parchment over to him, careful to note the charred edges, allowing him to glance it over.

_Dear Inquisition,_

_Did you know that there's a dragon in the Hinterlands? Would've liked to have known that before I went searching for red lyrium. You owe me some new armour._

_Aveline_

He couldn't believe his eyes. Three lines. Giving no solid report or any inclination to her position or her progress other than the fact that there's a dragon somewhere in the Hinterlands. It was so unheard of. And finding it so absolutely absurd, he couldn't help but laugh. Even though it gave them no update on her status at the Crossroads, it made him feel a bit more at ease.

"There's another report here from Cassandra." Leliana remarked, offering another letter to him. "I assume this one will be a bit more telling than the Herald's."

_Leliana,_

_We've secured aid from Mother Giselle. And at the behest of the Herald, we've also eliminated both the apostate and templar camps in Witchwood and along the West Road respectively. The refugees at the Crossroads will be much safer now, and you've probably already received several wishing to help. All reported rifts have been sealed, Master Dennet's allowed us his stable, as well as his expertise, and we've discovered a clan of Carta in Valammar that's been tracking our movements. We will address this matter after we return in a few days._

_Cassandra_

"Good." Cullen stated, finishing off the letter with a nod and handing it over to Josephine, who was too busy chuckling at Aveline's report to really notice. He smiled, recalling the ridiculous nature of it.

"According to my scouts, they should be back in Haven by nightfall." Leliana informed the two, clasping her hands behind her back. "Mother Giselle has actually just arrived herself with a few of the faithful. We should meet her as soon as possible."

The other advisors agreed, nodding and following the spymaster back out into the Chantry and out into Haven. As each of them walked through the camp, they stole collective glances at the Breach. Pulsing green and casting them all in an eerie light. The closeness of it spurred them on, giving them the determination to press forward, to heal the wounds that it left on the land. It was their greatest motivation, and quite possibly a prelude of their deaths.

Down the mountainside, Aveline and the others were regarding the sky with the same amount of trepidation, fear, and courage. She raises her hand into view, imagining the mark underneath her leather gloves. Her greatest power. The only hope for Thedas. Such a burden should not be left onto anyone's shoulders, but she promised to bear it well.

"Thinking about it again, are you?" Varric asked, coming up on her right.

She chuckled, clenching her fist and dropping it to her side. "It's hard not to think about. It almost killed me."

The dwarf offered her a kind smile. "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right? Whoever said that clearly has never taken a good shot to the knee."

With that little quip, Aveline let out an honest laugh. "Probably not." Then she paused, giving Varric an affectionate look. "Thank you, though."

"For what?" He asked, feigning ignorance with a coy smile. "I didn't do anything."

And at that last word he pushed forward, leaving her behind him to chuckle quietly to herself. They both kept their smiles, appreciating the small gestures they did for one another. In their brief travels, Varric was the only one capable of making her momentarily forget that the whole world could fall to ruin if she didn't succeed. Solas spoke to her of the Fade, and she readily asked questions about it. While her Harrowing had been only slightly traumatising, she did enjoy dreaming in the Fade, granted she was careful.

She wasn't like most of her brothers and sisters. While in the Fade, she'd come across a spirit that aided her in her journey and ever since then she'd learned the difference between them and their demonic counterparts. And while she did face a few demons, she learned how to overcome them. By her nature, she wasn't prideful, or greedy, or enraged. It made it hard for those such demons to sink their teeth in her. It was precisely why those weren't the demons trying to corrupt her. They learned. They knew.

_The feeling of floating, being above everything that troubles you, soaring, not knowing when you'll reach ground, and not particularly caring. Feeling like you can touch the sky, skim your fingers through a cloud and fall into glorious sleep. That's what it felt like to break through into the Fade for her. A moment of pure and complete clarity. Like a breath of fresh air. Peaceful._

_But then she wakes up._

_Lifting her head from the cold, damp, ground, she struggles to see. Everything bathed in an eerie green light, she has a hard time focusing on anything presented to her. It's all distorted, not that she can even keep her eyes still enough to properly identify anything she sees. She can make out some floating rocks in the distance, some running water to her left, and a circle made of fire. Perhaps there are some rock formations beside her, perhaps they're gurts. By their constant movement, they could very well be one of the beasts._

_Gingerly she stands, rubbing her head and trying to orient herself. She squints her eyes as she peers up towards the sky, using her hand to block out some of the light streaming into her eyes. She quickly regards its colour. Her breath hitches in her throat. It's green. Not blue like she's known all her life._

_She's in the Fade. She's painstakingly aware to that now. Suddenly her throat becomes dry, and she almost reaches for the running water she'd seen earlier when she stops herself. This is her first time venturing into the Fade. Still she knows better than to interact in the stirrings around her more than she has to._

_Clutching her sides, she moves forward. She almost questions the sudden drop in temperature, but she remembers what she'd been taught of the Fade. A realm ruled by imagination. Whatever its inhabitants wish, the Fade will reflect. She lets out a weak chuckle. Chastising herself for not knowing more fire spells as she shivers and her breath turns cold._

_There isn't much to the Fade, she realises. At least, not to her. Her surroundings do not change as she ventures deeper and deeper into the mysterious realm of spirits and demons. She doesn't know what to do. The Harrowing is different for everyone. She has no idea who she'll come across. And perhaps that is for the better_

"Ohoho. What have we here?"

_She turns briskly at the sound of the voice, though she can see no one. Still she looks, wondering what sort of demon has fallen into her lap. Or her into theirs. Perhaps one of rage, or pride. Two entities she isn't quite so knowledgeable of. She specialises in healing magic, in summoning barriers and planting wards._ Perhaps I should've paid more attention in my lessons of the Fade.

"A pretty little thing, come to play?"

_Again the voice. She turns again desperate to see the face of the creature whispering in her ear. To see that whatever monster stands before her and to face it willingly, on her terms. But she knows that she isn't on her terms. Or else she wouldn't even be here._

"Such a beautiful face, such a promising future, I wonder if you'd be worth stealing."

Stealing? _She asks herself. Carefully, she listens to the demon, trying to decipher who she's facing._

"I could return home to your parents, give them the daughter they've always dreamed of, always wanted, were afraid of losing. Hide away your magic and become everything they'd dreamed of. Don't you think that'd make them happier beyond belief?"

It wants to be me? _She continues to replay in her head, she's heard of such a demon as this. A demon of eternal wanting. It's rare to even hear of such a sighting in the Free Marches. They blend in too easily, stealing faces and destroying lives with their greed._

"If only you were sent here for me." _The voice chuckled suddenly_. "I could have fun with your face."

_She can't help but freeze a little at what it's said. She simply wants to get this Harrowing over with. Morph into an abomination and be quickly struck down by the templars. These games she's playing, they're only prolonging her suffering. And if Envy isn't the demon that's laid claim to her, then she wonders what sort of demon could be worse._

_Resigning herself again to her fate, she decides to remain where she is, sitting on the almost damp ground and clutching her knees to her chest. She decides it best to allow the Harrowing to take too long and be met with the same gruesome outcome. Perhaps that's better. Then her family won't have to live with the fact that their only daughter had fallen victim to a demon. Had proven too weak to fend off their damning touch. She had planned to fight, but no. This was all she could do._

_"My child, why do you linger?"_

_Another voice stirs her from her thoughts. Wondering which monstrosity has come for her next, she snaps her head up quickly, half expecting to see nothing, but instead sees a man bathed in a white light, looking down at her quizzically._

_When she does not respond, he continues. "There are many horrors in this place, they'll still come even if you stay still."_

_Clearing her dry throat, she buries her face into her knees. "Of course, you're here aren't you? Just get it over with."_

_The sudden soft touch against her hair startles her. She looks up again to see the man has kneeled down in front of her. He's gently caressing her hair as if trying to soothe her. "My child, you have far too little faith in yourself. I know you can persevere, face the demon that's set their eyes on you, return home to your friends, live to see another day."_

_"I can't tell if you're trying to trick me or if you're just trying to tempt me yourself." She admits, looking away from the man and sighing deeply, her tone shaky. She'll probably start to cry soon. And she can only imagine what sort of demon that will summon._

_"You are scared. Frightened. Full of despair." He continues, every world instilling something odd inside of her, something powerful. "She will sense it. You must not let her take root. She's been following you since you arrived. She can sense your resolve weakening._

_She chokes out a sob, trying to burrow deeper into herself. "I just want this to be over! They can kill me, I don't care!"_

_"No, you cannot think this." He tells her, tilting her chin up to him. "You_ must _press on. You can succeed, you can prevail. But you must believe that you can. You must see past these illusions, these tricks meant only to weaken you. You must try, you must_ hope _."_

She's never told anyone about the spirit. The mere presence of one is almost unheard of. Like wisdom, it stays hidden, only coming forth to those it feels safe to do so. So easily it's corrupted, doubted. And the result that comes from the rejection of hope, Aveline preferred that it stayed away. It wasn't worth the small chance it would thrive in this world. Not at all.


	6. Chapter 6

_Around each corner, someone who needs help. She can't resist them. Quickly, she comes to their aid. She doesn't quite understand herself. But she runs to them, helps them, heals them. She wants others to know that she isn't evil. That magic can be used for good. So she fights, she fights and she runs. She hurts, she always hurts, but she fights._

* * *

The Herald returned to Haven at nightfall, true to Leliana's word. Tired, a bit lethargic, she still pressed forward even after the weeks without a moments rest when she saw the familiar silhouette of Haven in the distance. She came through the gate last, behind her companions, almost looked over by the scouts as she passed. _If only_.

"Your worship." One greeted, crossing his hand over his chest, the salute of the Inquisition. "Sister Leliana wishes to speak with you and Seeker Cassandra at once."

_No rest for the wicked._ She thought to herself with a bit of a laugh, though nodding her accordance. "Understood. If you could let them know that I'll be in the tavern, I'd be most grateful. They're even welcome to join me if they're willing to pay."

The scout smiled briefly at her light quip before saluting her once more and running back to the Chantry. Alone, Aveline inhaled the cold winter air, hoping no one would come looking for her in that moment. Not only was she exhausted beyond belief, she was absolutely starving. A slight rumbling in her stomach gave way to that. Varric had noted it during their trek through the Frostbacks.

But as she walked through Haven, no one pulled her aside, no one leered at her, no one shouted obscenities at her, barely anyone even looked her way. Never had she ever truly appreciated her aura. Once her mentor described it as peaceful, that people often ignored her because she wasn't even considered to be a threat. It would've been useful, if she'd trained under any other school of magic. She had refused to learn anything more than healing magic before her Harrowing. She hated violence, yet understood the importance and necessity of it. Especially after facing demonic possession.

Quietly, she slipped into the tavern, approaching Flissa with a smile and sitting down at the bar. She sat there for a moment, enjoying the bard's songs and listening to the villagers talk about more mundane occurrences. A young woman was having an issue of nugs following her wherever she went. Never mind that a young man chuckled in the background, having put feed in her pouch after cutting a small hole in it, causing it to spill out and allowing the nugs to eat happily as they chased after her.

"Oh!" Flissa exclaimed, finally taking notice of the mage despite making eye contact a moment before. "I didn't see ya there! What can I get ya?"

She chuckled quietly, placing a few coppers in front of her. "Stew would be lovely, thank you."

The barkeep nodded, sliding the coins into her hand and setting a bowl in front of her patron. "Be ready in a minute."

"Thank you." Aveline said graciously, bowing her head a bit and continuing to listen to the music ringing out through The Singing Maiden.

A few minutes passed and more people filed into the tavern, weary from training or paperwork or dealing with the masses or whatever the Inquisition required of them. Among them was the commander. He was to meet a few of his fellow templars for a drink after they finished up for the day. Quietly, he chastised himself. He was no longer with the Order and he had a hard time remembering it.

He approached the bar, leaning on it instead of sitting, nodding towards Flissa as she served another patron sitting beside him before hurrying out onto the floor with a plate of tankards. He wasn't in a hurry, so he had no problem waiting. In fact, he almost preferred it. Slowly, he inhaled deeply, enjoying the change in venue from the barracks or the training yard.

Losing himself in Maryden's song, he barely noticed that it was the Herald sitting beside him enjoying her meal. He hadn't even known that she'd returned. At that moment she was invested in her stew, taking a bite of bread and sipping at her drink. He felt uneasy, and perhaps a bit awkward, he wasn't sure if he should approach her or not.

Truthfully, he wanted to. She was a mage, he was a former templar. She used to live in the Circle of Ostwick before they rebelled with the rest of Thedas. He wanted to gauge her opinions on the Order, see if she was afraid of them, hateful, distrusting. Perhaps clear up any misconceptions, if there were any within her. He felt like he was trying to make up for his past, and maybe he was. But still, he wanted to know.

"Lady Trevelyan?" He asked tentatively, inching closer to her.

Caught by surprise, and in mid bite, she looked up at the commander, her mouth full of stew and bread. Quickly she brought her hand to her mouth and turned away from him, perhaps embarrassed by the state he caught her in. He was about to apologise, ask her if she wanted him to go, when she raised a finger to him, signaling that she'd only be a moment longer

He had to admit, it was a bit endearing, seeing her so flustered. Made her seem less like the Herald of Andraste and more like the woman she truly was.

"My apologies, commander." She noted, turning back towards him after taking a long swig of her drink, chuckling. "It seems that you caught me at a bad moment."

Quietly, chortling a bit himself, he sat down beside her. "I should be the one apologising. I didn't mean to take you by surprise like that."

She offered him a kind smile, pushing her bowl away just slightly. "That's alright. Can I help you with anything?" Before he could open his mouth, she stopped him. "Wait, if it's anything to do with the Inquisition I've promptly put all of those talks on hold."

He couldn't help but laugh. "No, I'm sure you've had enough of the Inquisition for one day."

"Perhaps." She agreed, absentmindedly stirring her stew. "Unfortunately I'll be having to deal with you and the rest of this Inquisition business for months to come."

Her tone was dry, her expression flat, and for a moment the commander thought she was being serious. He thought he was disturbing her. But as her lip curled, giving him a coy smirk, he shook his head and laughed. "That was most cruel, Herald."

"Apologies, commander." She chuckled, not sounding sorry in the slightest. "Perhaps Varric is influencing my humour, I simply couldn't resist."

Cullen almost groaned, still with a smile on his face. "I sorely hope not. I can hardly stand the dwarf as it is. He bothers me both day and night. Claiming I spend too much time with a serious look on my face. I don't know how I'll survive if they're to be two of them roaming around camp."

Aveline returned his smile with her own, her blue eyes almost sparkling. "I'm sure it wouldn't be that bad. And I'm sure you didn't take a seat just for me to tease you."

He nodded, ordering a drink from Flissa and turning back to the Herald. "I wanted to ask you about your life in the Circle."

"Oh?" She returned, genuinely curious. "May I ask why?"

"I was a templar in Kirkwall for many years, and Ferelden before that." He informed her. "I served in the Circle and I wanted to know if there would be -" He stammered a bit, not sure how to word the question he wished to ask.

That was alright, since she seemed to understand what he was trying to get across. "You want to know what I think of the Order."

"Y-yes." He admitted, flustered. "You're a mage and I wanted to be sure that there wasn't any sour feelings left over from your time in the Circle. Not every templar is like what you've since in the Hinterlands."

Surprisingly, Aveline chuckled. "I'll let you know now that I never resented templars. I was living quite happily in Ostwick until the Circles rebelled. I even could call some of them my friends."

The commander had to admit, he hadn't expected that sort of response. "That is – I've never known a mage to think that way. So you are _not_ an apostate?"

"Well, I am, we all are. Though not by our choice. There were things I didn't approve of while I was in the Circle, don't get me wrong." She reiterated, taking a drink. "But they were simply doing their job, following orders. I cannot hold that against them. So I made the best of my time there."

Cullen couldn't help but smile. The Herald proved to be a kind woman. Understanding. It was a refreshing notion. "I'm glad to hear your experience in the Circle was a good one."

"Oh, no, it wasn't. Not really." She said, looking up at Flissa as she placed the commander's drink in front of him. "That doesn't mean I have to dwell on it or hate the templars because of it."

"I'm sorry -" The commander hesitated, peering into his drink. "I didn't mean to -"

"It's alright!" She assured him, smiling and putting a hand on his shoulder. "The important thing is that we're both here now, isn't it? Mages and templars working together, fighting for a common cause, the start of something better for the both of us."

He scoffed, a bit skeptical. "You apparently haven't heard the fighting that goes on in the barracks. It seems that you and I are an exception to the rule."

"Then, here's to us." She offered, raising her glass. "The exceptions."

Cullen chuckled, knocking her glass with his own. "And to closing the Breach."

She rolled her eyes in that moment, setting her drink down and chuckling. "I thought I said I was putting all Inquisition related discussions on hold for the night!"

He laughed quietly into his hand. "My apologies. It just slipped out."

"You're forgiven." She allowed him, her grin wavering on devilishness. "Just this once."

"Commander!" Someone suddenly shouted from across the tavern, making their way for the two. "Started without us, did you?"

Cullen turned at the familiar voice, one of his fellow templars, Nathanial. "If you and the others hadn't kept me waiting then perhaps that wouldn't've been necessary."

That's when the soldier directed his attention towards the Herald, giving her a coy smirk. "I see you've had some good company, at least. What's your name, lass?"

The commander almost chastised his comrade. _How could he not recognise the Herald?_ But before he got a chance to, she responded, simply smiling up at the soldier. "Aveline, it's a pleasure."

"I'm sure." He grinned, nudging Cullen in the side. "This guy's about as interesting as a wet blanket!"

Aveline couldn't help but laugh, bringing her hand to her mouth and watching the commander's face contort into a frown. "It wasn't so bad, I assure you."

"No need to be polite on his account-"

"That's enough, Trevor." Cullen interrupted, placing his hand over his subordinate's mouth and smiling kindly at the Herald. "We'll be taking our leave. It was nice to have this chat, Lady Trevelyan."

She nodded her agreement as she watched the two men relocate to another part of the tavern where a group of templars was waiting for them. Halfway there, though, Trevor turned around, his mouth fluttering open and shut as he probably surmised that he'd actually been talking to the woman that'd been guided out of the Fade by Andraste herself. Aveline couldn't stop the chuckle that bubbled past her lips. She wasn't used to being treated with such reverence, it would take a while to get used to it.

_She's wandering the halls of the manor, as she often does. Regarding the paintings she's passed time and time again, she can feel eyes on her. It's not as if she isn't accustomed to being watched, but the gaze she feels is not the usual cold stare from the guards, but something much more heated. She doesn't know what to expect. Yet she knows it won't be good._

_"Excuse me, Aveline, is it?"_

_She turns, surprised. It isn't the one who's been watching her, but a young apprentice. A young man she remembers to be Harper. Regarding him she barely notices someone down the hall, they turn the corner quickly, and she feels the hostile energy dissipate. She didn't see who it was, but it won't be the last time she feels their gaze boring holes into her._

_Quickly she forgets the presence, smiling up at the man who asked for her attention. "Yes, and you're Harper, are you not?"_

_He nods, his eyes casting a sort of warmth into the young woman. "Yeah! I didn't know you knew who I was!"_

_She chuckles at his excitement, bring her hand to her mouth. "Whenever someone comes from another Circle, we tend to remember them."_

_"Oh, right." He laughs nervously, scratching the back of his neck. "I came from Ostwick."_

Really? _She thinks, smiling happily. "What's it like there? Is Lydia still the First Enchantress?"_

_He nods, blushing a bit for reasons she isn't quite sure of. "She told me about you before I came here. You're from Ostwick too, right?"_

_"Indeed." She confirms, recalling her parents and the rest of the House of Trevelyan. They hid her away in Kirkwall, only allowing her to return home for their many balls, for the sake of image. Even the templars have no idea who she really is. She's simply Aveline. The Knight-Commander knows, those who keep watch over her phylactery know, otherwise her identity is unknown to the others beyond her first name and her status as a mage._

_Realising that she's ignoring the young apprentice, she shakes her head of the past and she smiles up at him. He returns the look kindly before looking away, blushing. The two walk down the corridor, talking about Ostwick like fast friends, enjoying each other's company, not even noticing that someone's eyeing them once more. For what possible reason, neither know. But it isn't good._


	7. Chapter 7

_Head, spinning. Feet, floating. She can't ground herself, she feels like the whole world is shifting beneath her, pulling out from under her. Green light, blinding her, sickening her stomach, twisting her thoughts. Something isn't right. She thinks. She_ knows. _Magic isn't supposed to do this. It isn't supposed to dance through time. It can't, it just simply can't. She wakes in a damp cell, panicked. The fate of the world, future, past, and present, in her hands._

* * *

_Dear Inquisition,_

_Time magic. My life's certainly been interesting since I've joined you lot._

_-Aveline_

While her previous reports had eased the commander's heart with her abrupt humour, this one did no such thing. The Herald had gone to Redcliffe to seek the aid of the mages against his advice, played the bait for a crazed Tevinter magister seeking her head. He'd known it was a poor idea, perhaps suicidal, but reserved his judgement. Of course she'd wish to seek out the aid of her own people, it was only natural.

They weren't gone for more than a few days when they received word. He hadn't expected good news, if he was being honest with himself. There were a thousand ways for their meeting to go wrong, and yet he never accounted for this possible outcome. First the brief message from Trevelyan, but what he read in the letter from Cassandra, it was horrifying. _Time magic. "The Elder One"? What's even going on anymore?_

"Is this correct?" Josephine asked, finishing the report when he did. "An assassination plot against the empress and a demon army marching through Thedas?"

Beside them, Leliana nodded solemnly. "That is what the Herald says she saw in this future she and Dorian experienced. But I wouldn't write it in stone just yet, not until they return."

"Get ready for the mages to arrive." Cullen instructed a few scouts that passed, shaking his head when they were out of sight. "We're going to need more tents."

Josephine nodded, penning down something on her clipboard. "I'll work on procuring a more reliable source of lyrium."

"Good." Leliana concurred with a slight bow. "I'll do the same."

The ambassador tsked lightly. "Your lyrium smugglers aren't _reliable_."

Leliana chuckled lightly. "You're so picky, Josie."

Even though the two joked, Cullen could tell they were just as shaken as he. As each day passed something would arise that would force them to question the world as they knew it. First the Breach, ripping open the Veil and passing into the Fade, an act that hadn't been performed in a thousand years, for good reason. And yet, she did it. The Herald walked through the realm of demons and spirits mostly unscathed.

Now there was something even more impossible on their horizon. _Time magic_. Perhaps the world wasn't as linear as the commander was taught to believe.

_Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him._ He mused to himself. _Those days were simple_.

Nothing about his life has been simple. From joining the Templar Order when he was yet a man to joining the Inquisition after the Circles had crumbled to pieces, he so wished that for once something could go as planned.

The Herald wished just as he. She was resting in a camp near the Frostback Basin, remaining alert in case the Avaar deemed them an easy target to strike. Her marked hand was clutched to her chest as she recounted the horrors she saw in the future she was thrust into. Demons everywhere, red lyrium corrupting dear friends and turning them to madness before eventually devastating their souls until nothing remained of them. It was too much for her to handle.

" _What of the others?"_ She had asked Leliana in that twisted future, for only Sera and the Iron Bull remained.

The truth, twas something she wasn't prepared for.

Josephine was the only one granted mercy, being nothing but an ambassador meant she was not a threat to the Elder One or his plan. The others, they were killed slowly. Red lyrium seeping through their veins, dark magicks tearing them asunder, every horror they could imagine unleashed from the Fade. No torture was too much for the agents and advisors of the Inquisition.

She let out a shaky breath, watching it warm the air and rise towards the crescent moon shining above them. So much was riding on her, before Redcliffe it was easy to forget that. The troubles thrust upon the people of Thedas seemed so linear, well within Aveline's power to rectify, it was a comforting lie to accept.

_Never again_. She reassured herself as she brought her knees to her chest.

Never again would the Herald of Andraste make such a grave mistake.

_Harper turned out to be a kind sort, a true gentleman when Aveline least expects it. She's spent more days with her new friend than with Vera, something she doesn't even notice. But the others do. There's whispers around them as the walk through the halls, they point and they ponder, the gossip is fresh and new, and they can't get enough of it._

" _When did you leave Ostwick?" He suddenly asks her one day during their studies._

_Aveline taps are her chin, trying to recall herself. "It was just before the Blight, if I remember correctly, I remember Meredith telling the older mages that they might be conscripted for the cause. I couldn't have been more than thirteen."_

" _Wow." He breathes in disbelief. "Would Meredith have actually let them be conscripted? You know how she is with us mage types."_

_She chuckles quietly into her hand. "Luckily for us "mage types", she'd have no say in the matter. A Grey Warden's conscription is law."_

" _True." He nods. "Lucky for us."_

_She can't help but smile at her new friend, for reasons she has yet to understand. "Let's speak of more pleasant things, how are things back home? It's been years since I've been back."_

" _Things are great!" He exclaims, making large gestures with his hands. "First Enchantress Lydia's birthday was just before I left, you wouldn't believe it but the templars let us throw this_ huge _celebration for her! There were magical fireworks and my friend Talen charmed these little paper cut-outs to wiz around, and there were even some cakes from Val Royeaux! It was absolutely spectacular!"_

_When he pauses to take a breath, there's laughter in Aveline's eyes and he spots it easily enough. "Am I amusing you, my lady?"_

_Laughter bubbles out of her easily, a hand raises to cover her mouth. "You're so exuberant, Harper. Most mages become sullen after their Harrowing, but not you."_

_He scoffs joyfully. "Takes more than a fear demon to rattle my boots, I'll have you know."_

" _Oh?" She asks, a coy grin twitching at her lips. "Then what_ does _rattle your boots?"_

_To be sure no one's listening, he takes a brief glance over his shoulder before leaning in close to her. "Have you ever seen the cream mask Yvonne wears while she sleeps? It's absolutely ghastly."_

_It's true, the mask she wears is positively atrocious, but Aveline doesn't understand why he's so cautious about this fact when suddenly –_

A kiss?

_She's shocked, to say the least, a warm sensation spreads across her lips, a warmth that's seeped from Harper's very being. When he parts, he's smiling sheepishly, a deep blush colouring his face as if this simple act took every ounce of courage he possessed._

" _I'm sorry i-if that was pre-emptive but –" He pauses to swallow past a growing lump in his throat. "We haven't known each other long, but I've started to care for you, Aveline and I just – I dared to hope that you possibly felt the same…?"_

_As he speaks, she simply can't find her voice to respond. There have been stirrings in her since they met those few weeks ago, but only now has she realised what they truly mean. So, unable to speak, she grabs his face and presses her lips against his, perhaps with a bit more force than she initially intended._

_He's smiling against her suddenly, pulling her away and laughing despite himself. "I'll take that as a yes!"_

_The blush that's finding its way across her cheeks is more than she can handle, she falls into him, pressing her forehead against his chest to try and distract herself._

" _I am – I am so sorry Harper. I don't know what came over me!" She mumbles into his robes. "I've just – I've never acted like that before, I swear!"_

" _I know." He says kindly, leaning down and kissing the top of her head like it's the easiest and most natural thing he's ever done. "Neither have I."_

Thinking back to her first love, Aveline felt her heart wrench. Another comforting lie she let herself believe, that she could dare to love. What a fool she used to be, what a fool she still is. She looked to her hand once, clenching it and setting it by her side.

_Never again._


End file.
